


hearts were for this girl I knew

by capfrye



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror (implied), Character Death (Implied), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8916670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capfrye/pseuds/capfrye
Summary: He moves – a step forward, two, six – but he is too slow. He cannot grab her hand in time; she dissolves into a million flakes (as cold as snow, as luminous as spirit bloom) and they slip through his fingers like water. 
He has lost her. Again. 
--- 
Of the hundredth time Cayde-6 excludes the Jack of Hearts from his imaginary deck of cards.





	

Exos do not dream.

Their minds are organized, logic driven; when it is necessary to power down, their minds do not dream but rather, they embark on the systematic accessing and filing of the information they garner throughout a specific amount of time, making sure it is whole and that its different pieces are not scattered throughout different partitions of their processor: everything must be in its place in order to avoid processor lags. And once they wake, their flow of thought is smooth, flawless. But occasionally this is not so: the mind wanders and accesses too many memories at the same time; sometimes, it is difficult to tell what is real and what isn’t.

Exos do not dream _like humans do._

At least, not usually.

He stands in the middle of a room – at first empty, then with a desk and a chair, then with computers and a potted plant resting on a shelf. There are three white laboratory coats hung behind the door; the knob has a few chips of white paint stuck to it from having been slammed open hard enough for the knob to make a whole in the concrete wall. Lamps of white fluorescent light **_(_** white, always white – so pristine, so technical and sterile **_)_** shine down on the contents of the room, reflecting dimly off the powered down computer screens. Finally, he catches sight of the black mug resting on the desk; it is not steaming, the coffee in it has gone cold – or is there coffee in it at all? There probably is; Maya is never without—

_Maya._

**_MAYA._ **

 He has been here before, he knows **_that_** much; otherwise he would not have recreated the room with such detail, and the heavy sensation weighing down on his shoulders and compressing his chest would not exist. He would not be picturing **_her,_** sitting in front of the computer terminal, grey eyes focused on the letters on the screen, intense, scrutinizing—

And then she turns.

_Maya. MAYA SUNDARESH._

Steely grey meets aqua blue. Had he lungs still, the air would have been knocked out of them – and yet he wills himself to **_BREATHE,_** to fill his chest cavity with air and cycle it through his fans. She’s brilliant, driven, _beautiful;_ her eyes are like stars. He is rooted to his spot, entranced by the sight of her, simply delighting in the presence of the woman he has not seen in centuries. He moves – a step forward, two, _six_ – but he is too slow. He cannot grab her hand in time; she dissolves into a million flakes **_(_** as cold as snow, as luminous as spirit bloom **_)_** and they slip through his fingers like water.

He has lost her. Again.

The room around him vanishes.

He is in the void again; dark is all around him. There are whispers of his name drifting in the air; they pass him by like wisps of light, brushing against his body and soul, velvet soft. It is always her voice, Maya’s voice, a sound as clear as crystal and beautiful as the most harmonious orchestra **_(_** it was an advantage of his duty as bodyguard, listening to her voice **_),_** and the way it says his name is addicting; he could listen to it forever.

He is on his knees, optics directed skyward. Her face materializes into view **_(_** had he some consciousness left, he would compare the sight to that of an _angel **),**_ her hands rest on his cheeks – gentle, always gentle – and the warmth that seeps into his being is like the sun. He is mesmerized, lost within the soft heat spreading through his being and invading every nerve and muscle fiber.

She vanishes again; she does not remain for as long as he would have wanted her to.

But the cloud of luminous flakes suddenly rushes into him, entering his body through his mouth and throat as fast and _strong_ as a high-pressured stream of water. It fills his lungs **_(_** that’s wrong he’s not _HUMAN **)**_ and he cannot breathe **_(_** no, stop it – you don’t need to **_);_** it scares him, it floods his mind with fear, it floods his mind with _HER—_

She’s taking over him. He can feel it in his muscles, in his nerves, in his very _SYNAPSES_ ; she travels further up, invading his nervous system like a **_cancer_** , malignant and _aggressive_ and uncontrollable. She is in the back of his optics, in the back of his mind and then all over it, and then _deep_ within it. She has wrestled control from him, robbed him of his autonomy; he is at her mercy, unable to move, unable to talk, unable to think about anything but _her_ – because that is the only thing that exists within his mind.

_MAYA._

_MAY—_

_MA—_

_M—_

No, that is wrong. It isn’t her – **_Maya Sundaresh_** – anymore. It is another entity: merciless, logic driven, frightening, and it claws its way into the depths of his mind and invades his very thoughts. Maya’s face **_(_** beautiful, brilliant, driven Maya **_)_** has disappeared from view and it has been replaced by **_red._** He cannot tell what it is; he only knows it is here to _erase_ him from existence.

It is here to kill him.

At last, he screams.

\-------

Consciousness. The room around him **_(_** his room, _his bed **),**_ his chest _heaving_ in spite of the absolute uselessness of it, the grip of the _Ace of Spades_ clutched tightly by his shaking hand. This is reality; what he is feeling, seeing, _thinking,_ is all real. Slowly Cayde lowers the hand cannon, lets it rest on top of the mattress, and _coughs;_ he does it out of instinct, and for a moment he feels as if water is building up at the back of his throat, ready to be expelled out of lungs full to the brim.

There’s no water, of course.

He retrieves his discarded shirt from where it lies atop the carpet and slips it on. The discomfort lingering in the back of his mind makes him wish he were still human: at least he would be able to cope with it with a shot of something strong. What he can do, however, is step out in to the balcony and sit under the midnight sky, loose clothes ruffled by the breeze.

Cayde sits cross-legged, rests his hands on his knees, and begins playing a mental game of solitaire.

The Jack of Hearts is mysteriously absent from his imaginary deck of cards.

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Originally written and posted onto my Tumblr rp account ( spadesix.tumblr.com, suprise surprise! ), so it conserves the formatting I gave it when I posted it there. 
> 
> \-- The "red" mentioned in the story initially alluded to the glow of a Vex's eye, but then I thought I could also allude to SIVA (this work was such a flow of consciousness, really). Regardless, it's still somewhat open ended so take it as you will. 
> 
> \-- Why the Jack of Hearts? Playing through/watching a video of the mission "Cayde's Stash" and finding his secret room should tell you all about it. 
> 
> \-- My first work published here in a year, holy shit. Go me.


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